One Reader’s Confessions

(These are being divulged in the secret hope that others will agree with me.)

I judge books by their covers. This is totally unfair, because a less-than-visually-stunning cover does not, for an instant, mean the story inside is underwhelming. Yet I don’t hesitate to put right back on the shelf a novel whose cover doesn’t make me want to run off to the Scottish Highlands with it.

There is no guilt about not finishing books. Even if it’s a selection that no less than 56 bloggers I know and 43 Goodreads acquaintances have recommended. If it’s simply not for me, I’ll let it go with a wave of good wishes and not a moment of regret.

If I really didn’t enjoy a book all my friends love, I won’t post a negative review of it. I don’t want people I care about to be aware of my disappointment and in turn be disappointed themselves. That would make my insides wibble-wobble.

Rarely, if ever, do I give authors a second chance. There are exceptions to this. But generally, if reading so-and-so’s work transformed me into a koala of temporary sadness/frustration, then I won’t attempt another title by them.

Diversity fiction is not necessarily my thing. Do I appreciate movements like “own voices” and encourage diversity in writing? Completely. But depending on the specific novel, I’m pretty likely to give it a pass. Maybe it’s because I don’t have much tolerance for things like sexism/disability prejudice/religious elitism in certain cultures (and honestly, very little interest in developing this). And, quite frankly, I don’t like characters who are fixated on forcing their race/ethnicity down the readers’ throats.

Have I read diverse fiction? Of course. Have I found some great examples of it? Yes, indeed.

Do I get tired of trying to avoid the soapboxes? Yeah…

I won’t read negative reviews of books I love. Actually, probably a lot of you do this? Why spoil it for yourself, right?

I hold to a Judeo-Christian belief system, but don’t recommend Christian literature. Not entirely; I’ve gotten a lot out of non-fiction by Max Lucado and Joyce Meyer, and honestly enjoyed some Ted Dekker. But I find too much of the “Christian” market to be problematic in many ways.

Impulse library requesting is totally a thing. And this occasionally gets me into trouble. Like when several holds come in at once (you try lugging 8 or more hardbacks three-quarters of a mile, including up a hill, on foot, in the rain, without getting a little grumpy). And then I only have a maximum of 6 weeks (with renewals) to read them all.

In order to finish a long book faster, I’ll skip some parts. For example, about 75 pages from the end of The Raven King, I couldn’t stand it anymore, and cut to the last chapter to find out if Gansey survived. (In my defense, after I learned the answer, I did go back and catch up on what I missed.)

Page count totals more than 400 pages? It and I shall never meet. Again, yes, there are exceptions, though they’re few and far between. Does this mean I may be missing out on some really great stories? Yupper. Do I mind that much? Not at all. Bring on the movie version. Sorry, folks, but I simply don’t have the time to sit down and slog through 650 pages of any (even an amazing) novel.

I’ve given up on classics. Not because all the classics are terrible. A Tale of Two Cities and The Scarlet Pimpernel have a permanent spot on my list of recommendations. It’s mostly the time issue; also, it’s a matter of personal taste. Too many classics either frustrate or bore the living daylights out of me.

Please, please, please don’t make me read anything that isn’t speculative fiction. This covers fantasy, sci-fi, sometimes dystopia, and even steampunk. See, that’s plenty of options! So I’m abandoning romance, mysteries, thrillers, most historical fiction, and even biographies — trust me, that still leaves me more than enough choices. And these are the genres I love — what’s the point in depriving me of that?